Out of the Darkness and the Forgotten
by Athrun's Nightmare
Summary: Erik forgets Christine and the memories of the Phantom, and is given a new life. Christine remembers Erik and wonders what has become of her Angel as she tries to move on with her new life. Can they fight the fate that draws them back together?
1. To Forget

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera. Erik, Christine, Raoul, and all other characters that appear in the book belong to Leroux Gaston. Songs and other characters that appear in the ALW adaptation and not in the book belong to ALW.

**Notes:** This fic was inspired by the movie, the ALW play, and the very little I have read so far of the book. The characters are aged around what the movie screenplay had set them in.

**Chapter 1 – To Remember**

_You have come here for one purpose and one alone!  
Since the moment I first heard you sing…  
I have needed you with me to serve me to sing…  
For my music…my music…_

Erik moved recklessly through the dark tunnels below the Opera Populaire, away from the sounds of the mob destroying his home, away from the footsteps that clambered the dark halls of his hell, away from the world that sought to destroy him once again.

It was just like before in his younger days, though now the aguish of persecution was worse as he was not only losing his dark home, he had just lost the woman he loved in an act of uncharacteristic compassion and understanding.

What reason has he now to continue living in this nightmare of a life? The one light that he had hoped to lead him from the solitude of his dark life has left him with only a passionate kiss to remember and torment him for the rest of his life—a life he now expected to end soon.

But what a kiss it was! The feel of her lips against his, caressing, loving, and accepting. Even if it was meant as a bribe for her lover's life, it was the sweetest matter he had ever tasted. It was so heavenly that tears could not help but escape from his eyes from that act of…of…love? Perhaps or perhaps not, he wondered. Should it matter?

Erik stumbled slightly in his footsteps as he kept on his way through the dark. Any other day, he could travel this way in the dark with no hint of difficulty, but his disorientation caused by the events in his home with Christine and Raoul made him feel amiss and lost in his own domain. He wasn't certain anymore of where his direction headed. He paused briefly and absorbed the darkness of the tunnels before him. It was and always will be his only haven from the world that cannot accept his face unmasked.

But now, without the mask, who or what was he? He can no longer be the Opera Ghost. He was back to being just Erik once again.

Despite the exquisite gift granted to him by his beloved Christine, he knew that he had to let it go. His sweetest memory on this unforgiving earth had to be forgotten so he can move on. If he maintained it, he feared he might not be able to stop himself from coming for her once again. Erik didn't want that. He wanted to give her peace with her life with Raoul in return for the gift given.

"In here! I hear something! Men, over here!" a faint voice far behind Erik bellowed.

Erik gritted his teeth and felt his way around the dark. He hoped he would reach his horse before any confrontations come to pass. He had killed enough.

"Find that monstrous beast!"

An animal he was apparently. An abhorrent creature, a ghost that murders for glee, a blasphemous being that shouldn't exist. Why, Erik wondered again, was he cursed with this unfortunate fate. Was there some abhorrent sin that his mother committed that warranted such punishment? And if so, why was he the one to befall the cursed fate?

"Hurry! Don't let him get away!" someone shouted. "This way, this way!"

"Track down that monster! Track down the beast who killed innocent Bucquet and Piangi!"

Erik laughed dryly. 'Innocent?' What a lucky man Joseph was, Erik thought. Nevermind that he was an ugly-looking stagehand who flirted shamelessly with the women of the dormitories. Nevermind that he disrespected these women by spying on them as they dressed. Nevermind that he was an insulting cad who dared to make fun of things he did not understand. Nevermind all his carelessness in the operation of the opera house.

Unlike Erik, Joseph Bucquet had a 'complete' human face.

And Piangi…well…Erik was at a loss for words as he thought about Carlotta's lover. He hadn't really intended on killing him, but his frustrations won out.

Oh the burden of the face he carried was heavy indeed! Society's attitude had led him to believe that he was only half of what everyone else was. If they saw him from his left side, as many did upon first impression, they would mistake him for a handsome gentleman of great upbringing, upstart and fine, like a nobleman. But upon closer inspection, his humanity and beauty apparently stopped there. The mask that covered the right side of his face had a horrendous secret. It hid a monster beneath, something that God could not have created, a ghastly face.

From such abhorrence came his hatred toward society. Their unacceptance of his presence forced him to live in the shadows and finally take refuge in the lower pits of the Opera Populaire. There he lived for many years, rarely to be kissed by the sun, building his own kingdom of darkness where nothing and no one could judge him, never striving for anything beautiful except maybe his music. That is until he heard a young girl sing sadly inside the Opera Populaire's makeshift chapel.

Her innocent voice alighted hope in his being. It stirred a yearning for something exquisite and heavenly when he had long ago abandoned faith in God. He was troubled, however, at the sadness that was etched in her voice. In the night, he spied her in her time of solemnity, praying to God and to her father. She asked for an Angel of Music.

At her humble plea, Erik found himself immensely intrigued. Of all the things she could ask for in the unmerciful world, she had asked for an Angel of Music? Erik was even more interested now as he felt an odd inspiration stir inside of him. Such innocence and beauty surely would not protest if an Angel of Music did come, would she? Also, he saw in her a companion of sorts. They both seemed so lonely in the unforigiving world of man. An orphan she was, like he to some extent. Yet he didn't doubt for a moment that she was much more loved compared to him.

One night, he decided to make his presence known to her in the form of music. His violin was put to good use as he played for her soft hymns of comfort. He was worried for a moment that he might frighten her but he was surprised to find out that it wasn't the case. Wonder and surprise filled her eyes but no fear. So he played until it was time for her to leave for bed. Soon, he realized, she came more and more frequently to the chapel, not just to pray, but to listen for him and his music as well.

From thereon, he became the Angel of Music she sought. He not only played for her but soon sang to her wondrous gentle melodies. It did not take long for a teacher-student relationship to form between them. He was glad to make use of his talents to help her for she was the only who seemed to be accepting of his presence. She had requested numerous times to see him but he always refused as he was too afraid of the fear that the mask might bring to a seven-year-old girl. Their clandestine relationship existed for many years and only one other person was aware of Erik and Christine's secret: Madame Giry.

Erik found joy and solace in teaching the young Christine Daae who soon grew to be a beautiful young woman of age. Upon her turning eighteen, Erik discovered himself even more so captivated by the young woman shoe voice inspired him to dream of heaven. Without realizing it, he had fallen in love with her. The revelation shocked him to the depths of his soul. How can someone such as he know how to love when he had barely felt any love extended to him in his thirty-three years of life? And yet he knew his feelings to be true and genuine for his heart stirred whenever he was near her presence. However, because of her youth and innocence, Erik had no thought to pursue his feelings, as he knew it would surely terrify her. After all, how could she find it in her heart to love someone whose humanity was only half? He made himself content with having her as his nightly companion in the darkness, a partner in music, if never in love.

He was content with arrangement until the time came when he saw her in her gory in the night of her stage debut that he helped orchestrate. He was aggravated that he did not have the opportunity to see her from his usually reserved Box Five as the new managers saw it fitting to provide it for the Viscount, of all people, for the evening. He abandoned the unsettling matter though as he finally resolved to fulfill Christine's wish to see him.

Looking back, Erik thought that that was when it begun, the destruction of his happiness. Oh it was a wonderful moment when she came down willingly with him to his underground haven, melded her voice with his in song. But it was quite short lived as the struggle for her affections soon ensued with the return of her childhood love. The struggle had resulted in him becoming what society had always labeled him to be: a monster. In his madness, he killed two people, driven Christine to the arms of his rival, and forced her to chose between death in living with him or despair in the demise of her so-called lover.

_Don Juan Triumphant!_ indeed. Within a short span of time, Erik lost what he had treasured the most in the last eleven years of his life.

Erik despaired as he recalled the misdeeds he committed in blind jealousy. Oh how he wished he could turn back the hands of time to repair the damage he had done. His only salvation came with the kiss she bestowed upon him.

Faint sounds of gunfire far behind him restored Erik to his current situation in the tunnels. He didn't clearly understand why he sought to escape since he knew of nowhere to escape to. He no longer had an abode to call home. The Opera Populaire was up in flames no thanks to him. There was no one else looking to shelter him. Madame Giry might have saved him once. He sincerely doubted she would be inclined to perform the same act of kinds again. Nor did he expect her to.

"Monster! Where are you?"

Erik flinched slightly as the sounds of the mob behind him grew louder and louder. Another gunshot, another crash, another insult, and another call for his demise. It seemed that the mob would not rest until they had him beaten down and in chains. Maybe even dead.

He knew that his exit was not far. His black steed waited for him on the other side, destination unknown. Erik grimaced as he pondered where he could go. Was there any place in the world left for him to go?

His thoughts were interrupted as he unexpected felt a blow land on the side of his head. He growled in pain and struggled to cast off the being that had thrown its body on him, wrestling with him.

"I found him! I found him! Here, here!" Erik's attacker yelped to the mob as he continued to beat Erik with something heavy and undeniably of a metallic nature.

Erik's head throbbed in pain as he struggled to free himself. His attacker had somewhat managed to surprise him from the side as he crossed another intersection of tunnels. Erik let a frustrated grunt out as he tried to shake the hold that grasped his neck from behind. He flailed his right arm behind him in hopes of capturing his attackers assaulting arm. Finally, Erik drove himself backwards and smashed his assailant against a tunnel wall. He did this repeatedly until he felt his attacker's grip loosen at which point Erik swung him around and landed an elbow against the man's face. The attacker soon slumped down against the ground unconscious.

The ringing in his head continued as he struggled to regain his balance. The blows were unforgivingly concentrated on the right backside of his head. He laughed cynically and wondered what more damage could such blows cause considering the already misshapen state of that side of his face.

The sounds of running footsteps and cries out for him were getting louder and Erik realized that the rest of his pursuers were no more than at least fifty feet away.

"Damn you all! Why will you not leave me in peace!?!" he said in frustration.

He struggled up as the pain got worse and fought off the urge to pass out.. He knew he was bleeding because of the uncomfortable warm substance that trickled down his neck. Erik grabbed the weapon his assailant possessed and continued to march on towards the exit where his horse awaited its master.

When he was about ten feet away from the door to his escape, he found himself trying to defend against three more mobsters. He managed to overcome all of them but at a price. He was quite bloody all over and suffered a stab wound to his side from a blade he failed to evade. He also suspected that his right shoulder was broken and several of his ribs as well. With all his might, he shifted the hidden door he constructed many years before that led to the outer vicinity of the Opera Populaire. With great difficulty he mounted his horse and ushered his steed away. No sooner than he did this, despite his firm resolve, the darkness that threatened to overcome him had won out as his eyes closed. Erik slumped forward against the head of his horse as it galloped away in the shadows of the coming dawn to some unknown destination.

— x —

Three Days Later… 

Christine Daae woke up with a start from her bed. She had just been dreaming…dreaming of Erik. His voice…It had seemed like it was dying into the night, fading into nothingness. Suddenly chilled by the thought, she clutched the blanket to her chest tightly and shivered.

"Erik…" she whispered in the darkness.

A faint groan drew her attention back to her surroundings and Christine just realized that Raoul was at her bedside, asleep as he sat on a chair and his head at her bed. She suspected that he had watched over her again last night.

With a faint sigh, she recalled the tempestuous events of three nights before. The climax of the opera of her life. Erik's finest work. Raoul's fight for her. Erik's offerings and choices. Her very own battles with her hart and soul. Her anguished decision. Erik's despair. Her flight with Raoul.

She bit her lip as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. They were so different. Gallant Raoul. Passionate Erik. Day and Night. The nobleman and the outcast. The refined son cherished by society and the unfathomable prodigy that society could not accept.

One captured her heart, the other possessed her soul.

Christine forced herself to avoid questioning the choices made and instead focused on the man whose head lay at her side. With care, she gently brushed a golden lock of hair from Raoul's face. "Raoul…"

The young man stirred and awoke slowly, raising his head from the side of her bed. "Christine…I…What time is it?"

Christine squeezed the hand that held hers with gentleness. "It is almost dawn. You need not have stayed by my side last night again, Raoul. I'm not going anywhere."

Raoul smiled. "I know, but you know me. I'm a bit to worrisome for my own good. I was afraid that you…you might disappear from my sight again."

"He won't come for me anymore, Raoul," she quietly responded. She fought off the slight pang of guilt and disappointment that nagged at her.

Raoul brought her hand to his lips. "No more nightmares of darkness. Soon we will be wed and you can forget about the terror he brought upon you. Upon us."

Christine forced a smile. "I…I know."

Raoul leaned forward and gave her a light kiss. "I love you, Christine."

"And I, you," Christine said in return. However, even though the sentiment of her heart was genuine, her soul felt slightly amiss and sad as she remembered another face. She had a feeling that her soul would always be so from hereon. To live in love with Raoul meant having to live without Erik and music of her soul.

— x —

To Be Continued…


	2. The Good Samaritan

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera. Erik, Christine, Raoul, and all other characters that appear in the book belong to Leroux Gaston. Songs and other characters that appear in the ALW adaptation and not in the book belong to ALW.

**Notes: **This was a bit edited and broken down into several chapters. Some minor changes were made here and there.

**Chapter 2 – The Good Samaritan**

_Lead me, save me from my solitude…_

_Five Days Later…_

Marcellus Suniere steadied his eyes as he fixated on his target. His prey was a mere twenty feet away, unsuspicious. He suspected that this was the fox responsible for causing havoc in his stables several days back, preying on some of the poultry. The stable horses were also unnerved by the creature's unwelcome visit. Marcellus took another step forward and erringly stepped on a branch. The snapping noise startled his target and it quickly scurried away.

The tall man with grayish hair straightened up and moved quickly towards the direction that the fox disappeared to. Behind him, his two servants followed with their rifles in hand. "Do not make much noise as I do not wish to have our prey evade us completely," Marcellus hushed to them.

They moved across some shrubbery with him taking the lead. Twenty-five years of hunting experience would be naught if allowed a fox to outfox him. With patience, he followed its trail and was soon again within twenty feet of his prey. He crouched on the ground and raised his rifle by his right eye, taking aim. He captured his target in his eyesight and cocked his rifle for his shot.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he realized that his prey was licking on something oddly shaped slumped against a tree. Marcellus moved closer and narrowed his eyes.

"Christ!" he exclaimed and jerked up from his position. Forgetting about the fox, he rushed toward the tree where the oddity lay, yelling behind for his servants to quickly follow him. The fox ran off toward another direction and soon Marcellus was by the tree, with a bewildered expression on his face.

By the tree lay an unmoving form of a man, bloodied and beaten. The elder man quickly bent down and placed his hand upon the other's neck, feeling for a pulse. He was relieved to find one, albeit very weak and faint. "Lorenzo! Come! Hand me emergency package and take out some cloth and bandages! Andre! Fetch an able horse and wagon from the stable! This man is barely alive and we must get him to the estate soon to administer medical attention!"

"Yes sir!" Andre, the younger of the servants, heeded and ran off towards the stable.

Marcellus took his coat off and wrapped it around the injured man before him. He instructed Lorenzo to tend to the wound at the side and make sure it has stopped bleeding. He took out his own water flask and poured some in a cloth which he then placed by the man's mouth, hoping that some hydration would affect him. As he did so, he was able to obtain a closer look at the unconscious man's face. Marcellus noted with slight aghast that the right side was badly marred and misshapen.

In addition to that, there were noticeable bruises and bleeding behind his head. Marcellus guessed that this man might have been bludgeoned several times. As he observed more, he noted that perhaps some ribs were broken as well considering the bruising, and the right shoulder seemed out of place. He wondered how he was going to be able to move him when he was in such a bad state.

Soon Andre returned and somehow all of them had managed to get the stranger on the wagon and hurried home. When they arrived, Marcellus instructed that the stranger be brought to a guest room and had another servant fetch the family doctor.

Marcellus' only daughter came to offer aid but he insisted that she just busy herself with helping the maids get some hot water ready as it seemed that the man's treatment would require much of it. As much as he knew that his daughter could help, she might be frightened by the state of the stranger that he had brought home to be capable of administering medical aid. Before long, his family's doctor arrived and quickly busied himself with treating the stranger. Marcellus left the room and contented himself to sit on a chaise inside the library. He soon nodded off.

Five hours later, Marcellus was shaken awake by a servant who had informed him that the doctor was finished treating the patient. He quickly proceeded to the guest room and the doctor's side with a questioning glance. "How does he fare?"

Doctor Pierre Avante led out an exhausted sigh. "Monsieur, it was timely of you to call for me when you did. This man was…Well, I don't know how he managed to survive in his state for so long. The stab wound just missed a vital organ. I've given him some stitches to close the wound. I have also bandaged up his ribs to the best of my ability. His right arm would have to be in a sling for awhile as his shoulder is in a very precarious state," he paused. "The injuries he sustained to the back of his head really concern me. I'm certain he lost a substantial amount of blood from whatever caused those injuries. Where or how did you come upon this man?"

Marcellus let out an exhausted sigh. "My servants and I chanced upon him by the forest near the side of my estate. We were hunting for a troublesome pest. I spotted him by a tree, slumped and in that battered state."

Doctor Avante regarded his patron. "Aside from his physical injuries, the state of the right side of his face…I'm not sure what to do about that, if any. Unlike his other injuries, it seems that it has been in that misshapen state for quite some time now. War injuries perhaps? Ot maybe even torture? I cannot make a surmountable decision on it."

Marcellus moved closer. The right side of the stranger's face, as the doctor indicated, was quite distorted. "Perhaps on or the other. But that's the least of your concern, is it not? Judging by how cold his skin was when he was brought here, I guessed he has been staying by that three for at least a day or two."

The doctor nodded. "He would need constant watch as the threat of pneumonia exists. He has a very high fever right now. The next twenty-four hours shall be very crucial in his survival."

"I'll have servants watch over him with the utmost care, Doctor."

"Very well then. I shall have to take my leave for now, Monsieur Suniere, as it is quite late."

"Thank you for attending to my request. Bernadette has your recompense and shall accompany you on your way out."

The doctor gave a curt nod and picked up his bag. "You are very welcome, Monsieur. Please do not hesitate to call for me if needed. I will make a visit again sometime tomorrow to check on the patient. When he awakes, please ensure that he has plenty of water to drink and have him consume something of a very tender nature. Until then, I bid you good night."

— x —

_One Week After the Don Juan Triumphant Events…_

Monsieurs Andre and Firmin sought to meet several architects in hopes of restoring what was left of the Opera Populaire. The structure suffered extensive fire damage in its main hall and many windows were blown out because of the intense heat from the fire. Repair and reconstruction were to begin as soon as possible to salvage part of the opera season. The owners busied themselves with negotiating the patronage of the opera house. Regardless of all the unhappy events that had occurred, the Viscount had insisted that his family would continue supporting the activities at the opera house. However, it was not certain if such support included Christine Daae's return to sing.

"Oh that is quite all right, Andre. Carlotta has expressed interest in returning so we at least have a star to perform once repairs are completed," Firmin assured his partner.

"Yes, yes, quite fortunate. While I am thrilled that the de Chagnys will continue their support, I cannot help but blame the Viscount partially for all this mess," said Andre in return. "The Opera Ghost, man or phantom, caused us quite a fortune you know. All because of their scandalous affairs with Miss Daae."

"Hold your tongue, Andre! The ghost is no more. His home has been destroyed and the police are quite certain they have driven him off, if not killed him, from the depths of the opera. We have nothing left to fear."

Andre let out a sigh and nodded. "You're right, of course. On to business then, have you any architects in mind who might be able to undertake the task of rebuilding parts of the Opera House?"

Firmin glanced the list before him. "I have attempted to contact the structure's original architect but unfortunately he is quite busy with another company in Germany at the moment. I have here a list of other French architects of prominence who might be able to provide their services."

Andre took the list and gave it a once over. "Gustave Eiffel…Not him as he is bit too expensive for my liking. Girbaud…I'm afraid he's busy with working another project in southern France. Mansart…well…I don't know. It's true that his ancestor was brilliant but I've been informed that his skills are quite questionable compared to his forefather."

Firmin frowned and fetched the list from Andre. "What of this one here?" he pointed to a name down the list. "I hear that he has just returned from Orleans recently after finishing several constructions for several noble families and the government."

The other gave him a doubtful look. "Well, he seems credible. Do you think he'll wish to work on the Opera House?"

"Why not?" Firmin said. "Our building is quite famous! I am certain he would more than happy to offer his services to us. He could think of it as a high achievement!"

"Oh all right. Send a post for him so that we may meet and offer him the work. I sincerely hope he accepts as we really need to get this done as soon as possible."

"I will send for one later today, and to the Viscount as well informing him of the developments. In the meantime, let us off to lunch," suggested Firmin as he marked the architect's name on the paper. "I have received a fine bottle of wine from the family de Marquise and I am simply dying to have a taste of it."

"Ah, they have very fine vineyards, do they not?" asked Andre as he followed after his business partner out of the room and closed the door behind him.

On the desk, they left laying the parchment listing the architects. Near the middle of the list was the circled name of Marcellus Suniere.

— x —

"Monsieur, pardon my intrusion," Gerard knocked gently against the door that led to his master's study. "It seems that our guest is stirring fully awake."

Marcellus moved from his desk and strode out from his study. "Is he coherent? And was he given something to drink or eat? I'm sure his throat is quite parched."

Gerard followed his master to one of the guest bedrooms of the estate. "Yes, sir. He is quite confused at the moment."

Marcellus entered the guest bedroom and proceeded toward where the patient lay. His bandaged head was propped up on several pillows and he looked cautiously around. His shoulder, still bandaged, was unmoving. "How are you, young man?"

The dark haired man shrank slightly at the new person who entered the room and stood next to his bed. "I…I am uncertain. Where…Where am I?" He winced as he moved his head. "What has happened to me?"

"Young sir, I found you lying in the cold by a tree in the forest next to my estate," said Marcellus. "Tell me. What is your name?"

The man blinked. "I…I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" a brow rose on Marcellus' head. He was a bit wary but seeing the confusion that lay in the eyes of man before him convinced him otherwise.

"I…" the man closed his eyes for a moment. "I…I remember…Erik…I am Erik."

"Erik," Marcellus repeated the name. "How did you happen upon my estate? Where are you from and what has happened to you? Were you feeling from someone? Or just dragged here against your will?"

Uncertainty clouded Erik's dark blue eyes. "I…Forgive me, but I do not recall. I do not remember a single from my past or what has happened to me. I only recall my name."

Marcellus initially suspected that his 'guest' might have been a criminal of sorts, fleeing from the authorities. However, after he had sent Gerard to town to investigate, Gerard reported to him there was none that matched the man's state. The only news from Paris was that of a scandal that held to a fire in the Opera Populaire and the purported abduction of its soprano diva. A strange love affair of sorts involving the family de Chagny, rumor circles whispered.

"Gerard," Marcellus summoned his servant. "Call for Pierre. Tell him that his patient is awake." He turned to his daughter who was now also in the room. "Bernadette, instruct the maids to bring some supper for Erik here. I am sure he is quite famished."

"Yes, Father," Bernadette Suniere complied and left the room. Gerard followed after her.

Marcellus turned back to face Erik. "You shall stay here for as long as necessary to recover, Erik. Do you perhaps know of anyone or any name that might sound a bell from your past? A place perhaps or estate?"

Erik shook his head. "I cannot recall anything as such at the moment, kind sir. I thank you for your care and I will do anything that I can so that this dept is repaid." He slightly bowed, bearing the pain that the movement of his head caused. "I am your humble servant."

"Think nothing of it," Marcellus waved his hand. "Pierre, rather Doctor Avante, shall be here shortly and he will examine you. I am sure he will give you no trouble. Now, please excuse me as I have certain affairs to take care of. I shall return later to see how you fare, my friend."

— x —

Erik was once again alone in room. He attempted to rise but any movement caused his body to ache in much pain, most especially from the back of his head. Carefully, he raised his left hand to his face and felt the bandages around his head. He moved his fingers slowly over the right side of his face where he noticed that most of his visitors were staring. He felt ridges and oddities against his fingers as he traced. He reached for a small mirror beside his table and looked at his reflection. He was taken aback at the face that stared back at him.

Immediately, feelings of shame and fear overtook him. The right side of his face was badly deformed and distorted, and yet he found it strange that he felt no pain come from it. How could he show such a face before his caretaker?

"What happened to me? What am I?" he asked out loud but the room offered him no answers except silence.

— x —

To Be Continued...


	3. Latent Coincidences

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera. Erik, Christine, Raoul, and all other characters that appear in the book belong to Leroux Gaston. Songs and other characters that appear in the ALW adaptation and not in the book belong to ALW.

**Notes:** Here's the third chapter with some new stuff. Thanks for the kind reviews from before and I hope you like this chapter.

**Chapter 3 - Latent Coincidences**

_One Month Later…_

Bernadette flung her long blonde hair behind her back as she hurried outdoors to the rose garden where she knew he would be. Her father had asked that she summon him inside the house to look over some plans that some gentlemen brought over for the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire in Paris. Her father needed his eye and opinion on the proposed project.

It had brought great joy to his father in learning that Erik somehow had an architect's eye and skill to him despite the amnesia he suffered. As Erik recovered from his injuries he busied himself with reading journals and books of architecture that adorned her father's library. Soon after that, he procured some paper and writing materials with which he made some wondrous sketches of various types of structures and bridges. Her father was quite impressed with his talent that he has noticeably spent plenty of time debating and discussing designs with Erik.

Erik, Bernadette recalled, initially frightened her when her father first brought him to their home. He was in quite a bad shape, all bloodied and bruised. And his face…It was shocking to see a human face in that state, so contorted on its right side. And yet her father found no fear in it and advised his fourteen-year old daughter to refrain from passing judgment on him based solely on that. It took some time but after three weeks of having to dine with Erik and her father, she found herself used to his face and company and thought nothing ill of his face's contortion.

The young lady, however, noticed Erik's discomfort at the public's perception of his unnatural face. Even though she and her father thought nothing of it now, Erik always tried to turn that side of his face away from everyone. His left side, which reflected handsomeness and intelligence, gave no hint of what abnormality marred his right side. Because of this, he was very hesitant to venture outside her father's estate and avoided being alone with any of the servants as much as possible. Her father considered his predicament and had asked Doctor Avante to fashion some sort of mask for Erik to use when he ventured outside the estate.

Bernadette reached the rose garden and found Erik hunched over by where the bed of roses bloomed. Ever since he was able to walk and venture outside the house, she had noticed that he would frequent the rose garden, tending to the red roses or just watching them. Once before, she asked about his fancy for them. He replied that he believed that in his forgotten past, he must have cared for them greatly. She had then suggested that perhaps he was a gardener of sorts in his previous profession. He only smiled in response.

"Erik," she called. She wasn't accustomed nor brought up to call men much older than her by their first names names. However, Erik was very adamant about him getting addressed as such. Since he had no last name that he could recall, his first would just do.

Erik rose from his crouched position and turned to face her. "Yes?"

"Father calls for you. He wants your opinion on some architectural matters. Messieurs Andre and Firmin from the Opera Populaire had stopped by briefly and dropped them off for Father to study."

"I see," he said. "Thank you."

Bernadette half-expected him to say something else but when he didn't, she turned around and led him back to the house.

— x —

Christine tightened her cloak about her as the cool wind of the summer night blew by. More than a month has passed since the events that occurred in the undergrounds of the Opera Populaire. More than a month since she last saw Erik and bade him goodbye forever.

Raoul whisked her away from the night that Erik promised, away from the unhappiness of the life he lived. Even though she went with him willingly, part of her couldn't help but feel regret at leaving Erik at such a state—broken.

The first several days after the disastrous event, she worried secretly for his welfare, reading as much news material as she could, hoping to get some information about a man that might have been considered to be the Opera Ghost. Occasionally, she would spy the section where the obituaries were listed perchance that it might have something about Erik from there. Every time, she was both relieved and trepid to find no information.

Christine had sent for Madame Giry at the estate and questioned her for any reports or rumors that might have come her way but it was to no avail. The woman who had been familiar with Erik the longest had nothing to tell. She instead insisted that Christine forget about Erik altogether and just cherish the life she has been given with the Viscount. They were, after all, engaged to be married soon.

After that encounter, she refrained from seeking any more news about Erik for Madame Giry was right. She had made her choice between Raoul and Erik. She should not concern herself much any more with Erik's affairs or state of health after she chose Raoul over him. To forget Erik, she busied herself with the wedding plans that needed to be made and familiarizing herself with Raoul's family and friends. It had been somewhat of a difficulty since she wasn't exactly part of the noble circles.

At nights when Raoul was busy with family and business affairs, Christine found herself lonesome at the grand house. It was in these times of loneliness and solitude that she found herself thinking about Erik the most. The moments of quiet reminded her of the times when he would sing or play the violin for her until she fell asleep in their sweet heavenly lullabies. She missed the presence that she knew always watched over her and protected her as she slept.

"Oh Erik," she whispered in the night as she stood alone in the house veranda. "What are you doing now, Angel?"

— x —

Erik woke up abruptly from his sleep and glanced around his dark room. He wondered for a moment if someone had called out for him in the darkness. A faint voice, tinged with concern and regard.

Unnerved, he rose from his bed, reached for and slipped his mask on. He fetched the robe by the foot of his bed and slid it on carefully over his shoulders. Without making much noise, he slipped out of his room and went downstairs to the library.

With a grim sigh, he sought to remember the memory of the voice he heard in his dreams, seemingly calling out to him every night. It was a gentle voice, almost angelic in nature, he thought. It always called for him in the night. He wasn't certain what for but he felt needed by whoever called him.

Once again, as many times before, he found himself standing before the grand piano in the library. Several weeks ago as he was there searching for another architectural journal to read, he felt himself being pulled toward the musical instrument that stood in the corner. Marcellus informed him that his wife, before she passed away, used to play frequently. Unfortunately, Bernadette's skill with the instrument was quite minimal so the instrument had been hardly played ever since the death of Madame Suniere.

Erik hesitated for a bit and finally sat on the piano bench. He had no recollection of ever playing but his hands itched to touch the ivory keys before him. After further consideration, he finally gave in and placed his hands on top of the keys and closed his eyes.

Another moment later, the library came to life with the music he had started to play. Music that stemmed from memories forgotten in his mind. Music that sang in harmony with the voice that kept calling him. Music that haunted and taunted him in the darkness of his mind.

It was the music that was always on his mind. It was his music of the night.

— x —

_Three Weeks Before the Wedding…_

Christine idly caressed the petals of the red rose she plucked from the estate's garden. Soon she and Raoul would be wed and much of her hours have been spent doing various tasks in preparation for the happy event. Raoul tried to lend as much of his time as he could but negotiations regarding the repairs of the Opera Populaire kept him quite busy.

Since she was again by herself, Christine found her thoughts diverting to a dark-haired ghost. The red rose in her hand reminded her of his symbol of adoration and love for her. She sat on a bench and stared some more at the flower she held.

The blood red petals were soft to the touch and smooth in texture. The green crown was quite lush and full in embracing the blossomed flower, never once taking attention away from the verdant petals. Thick thorns adorned the stem beneath, promising pain to those who held it careless yet and yet so cautiously calm to the beauty of the rose.

So much like how Erik was to her. So beautiful and yet so dangerous.

Christine shut her eyes for a moment to recall his anguished face as he finally confessed his love for her. With much sadness, she found nothing to say and instead returned the ring that held the promise of his love. As she went away with her fiancé, she spared one last glance at Erik who stood watching her disappear. In an unexplainable moment, she returned the look he gave her with much…love…that her heart sang the song he longed to hear. She felt for one last time her heart and soul singing in one harmony for the man who saved her from solitude in her growing years at the opera.

The heart and soul that both once sang to say goodbye to Erik now long for him, ironically.

Christine blinked at the sudden revelation. The love which Erik offered her was so bold and passionated, so fierce and consuming for the soul. It held promises of nights that were never cold, conversations that were never dull, and music that was rich in depth, understanding without words spoken, and solace in each other's comfort.

Raoul's love was so differing in turn. Raoul promised quiet and surety, steady and unchanging rhythms, talk that was prim and proper, circles that thrived on wealth and beauty, love that was precious yet unexciting compared to Erik's.

Oh how wretched her youth was and the choices beheld to her! What wisdom and knowledge had she to make a decision on whose love was far more tantamount to hers? Was she a woman or a young lady? Was she passionate or reserved? Which love brings her life and vibrancy? Which love eases her discomfort and truly warms her heart?

_"That's all I ask of you…"_

A fait and gentle voice caressed her ears and startled her from her reverie. Stunned, Christine looked up and sought the source of the wondrous sound. For a moment, she wondered perhaps if she had imagined it byt the voice, though faint, was unmistakable. The longing and despair that traced the voice, however brief in the wind, could only come from one man.

Christine walked from the gardens and looked anxiously around the estate. Raoul and Monsieur Suniere were still inside the house discussing affairs regarding the opera house. The only presence outside with her was the carriage and its horses. The carriage driver was off by the stables, she knew, obtaining water and some food for the horses before their trip back.

Curious, she made her way towards the lone carriage. She felt another presence behind the shades that were drawn inside. She knew it was a bit childish of her to think that the voice might have come from there rather than the activity of her imagination. Still, she could not help but be intrigued at the shadows before her.

When she was a mere twenty feet away, the main door to the house opened behind her and out stepped Raoul and Monsieur Suniere. Business discussions were apparently finished in good terms as both men were in smiles.

"Ah, Christine!" Raoul called to her. "Come, my love! Monsieur Suniere is anxious to meet the wonderful singer who shall soon be my wife!"

Christine smiled briefly and turned from the carriage, the voice momentarily forgotten. "I would hope you have not given Monsieur Suniere any extravagant descriptions, Raoul."

A tall gentleman bowed slightly before her as she approached. "Mademoiselle, on the contrary, it seems that your fiancé has been quite humble with his descriptions of you. You are far more exquisite than he originally described."

"Monsieur, you need not flatter me," Christine allowed the elder gentleman to kiss her hand. "I am but your humble servant."

Marcellus beamed at the young lady and turned to the Viscount. "Viscount de Chagny, you certainly are a lucky man to have been chosen by this young lady."

Raoul chuckled. "I'm quite aware of how lucky I am, Monsieur. Now are you certain you'd rather not join us for supper? Please encourage your associate to join us. We are quite welcoming of friends here at my estate. Including Monsieur Renaud."

Marcellus placed his hat on his head and sighed. "Alas, kind sir, Monsieur Renaud is quite the recluse. I barely convinced him to make the trip here as it is. Strange as it may seem, he was adamant about staying in the carriage while we discussed our affairs." He glanced slightly at the carriage. "Perhaps some other time? Once everything is finalized, let us have a toast to our joint venture."

The charming nobleman nodded. "Certainly. Christine and I will be looking forward to it." He reached for Christine's hand and held it in his. "I hope that by then you can convince your brilliant associate to join us in celebration."

Marcellus shook the Viscount's hand. "I shall try my best. It was a great pleasure to meet with you, future Viscountess. I apologize for the briefness but I must now go as darkness will soon come. I bid you both good night." He touched the tip of his hat respectfully and turned from the pleasant couple of the estate. Lorenzo met him at the carriage and helped him inside. Once inside, Marcellus took the seat opposite of the other occupant and addressed him, "You should have joined us, my friend. The Viscount was quite interested in meeting my talented associate. Your ideas greatly impressed him. Also, his fiancée seems like a pleasant young lady."

"Forgive me, Marcellus. I'm afraid I'm still quite hesitant to meet with many people. You and Bernadette have been most accepting of me. Unfortunately, I'm still wary of how others would perceive my character."

Marcellus sighed. "I apologize if I am persistent. I would just like for you to be able to live with others instead of isolating yourself. You shouldn't let that masked face of yours prevent you from enjoying the company of others."

Erik turned slightly. "You are right, I know. Perhaps, as the dear Viscount suggested, I might be able to join you in your celebration once your arrangements have been finalized."

Marcellus thought to continue the conversation but he paused. Erik was in one of those thoughtful moods again. He noted that Erik gets in these moods when he slightly remembers something from his forgotten past. "All right. What did you busy yourself with while waiting for us to finish? Surely just sitting here idly was not that eventful."

Erik blinked in surprise. "I…Ah, I was not completely idle. I was…singing."

Marcellus gave him a curious look. "Singing? Remembered something from your past again, Erik?"

The carriage jumped slightly after they hit a hump. "I…no. I don't know. I was staring outside outside at the gardens and saw this young woman who I guessed was the Viscount's finacee. She had in her hands this red rose…and I…well, I don't know. The image inspired me?"

"You should have stepped out of the carriage and introduced yourself. She seems really charming, you know. Her name's Christine Daae," Marcellus informed him. "She was a promising soprano at the Opera Populaire. You two could have discussed music, considering your talent in that field as well."

Erik paused briefly as his mind strained to memorize the name. "Perhaps next time," he curtly replied.

"So what of this song? Any memories?"

Erik turned his glance outside the carriage. "I'm uncertain. I…The urge overcame me. The mental image of her with the red rose…I started humming this tune. Then I sang a lyric which came to me." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I might have vocalized a bit too loud as her ears caught my voice. She began to seek me out when you and the Viscount exited the house."

Marcellus watched Erik some more. "I see. Erik, maybe your past had quite a history of music in it? You refrain from playing the piano in the library in our presence and yet I've noticed you spend considerable minutes just looking at it during the day. I know you play it late at night when you think everyone is asleep."

The masked man flinched slightly. "I apologize if my activity has roused you from your sleep. I shall refrain from pla—"

"You need not do that, Erik," Marcellus interrupted. "Please feel free to play whenever you wish to. Don't refrain from doing so on our account."

Erik kept silent. Marcellus knew he was now deep in thought. He marveled at the man's recovery in less than tow months. Though his frame still lacked somewhat in weight, his appearance showed no hint of weakness or injury. He knew that Erik took care not to show his vulnerability in front of others. Even now, Erik exuded the image of a physically fit gentleman with his stature. "You may take your mask off in my presence, my friend. I have no qualms about your face," he said.

Erik gave him a brief look and then turned to gaze outside again. "I'm quite comfortable with it on, Marcellus. I hope it offends you not but I'd much rather have my mask on at the moment."

The Suniere patron sighed again. "I take no offense, of course. I just wanted to look after your comfort and wellbeing, my friend."

"For that, I am forever grateful," Erik said quietly. "Somehow, I think my past self would be just as grateful for all the kindness you have bestowed upon me, Marcellus."

— x —

To Be Continued…


End file.
